Where Feet May Fail
by A. E. Stover
Summary: [AU] Jean wasn't gonna let some kid's ratty old notebook filled with badly-written gay porn flip his whole life upside down... Right? ...F his life.
1. When you smilin'

**_REAL-PERSON FIC, REAL-PERSON TROUBLE_**  
>written by <strong>A. E. Stover<br>**this version is **not edited**

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Based on a tumblr post by _**faun-songs**_.

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**[01]**

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"Quit flirting with your boyfriend and let's go!"

Jean Kirschstein glared as he flicked a paper football off the library table "Say shit like that again, and I'll keep taking my sweet time."

Eren Jaeger slapped the incoming projectile away. "I'll stop when you stop using Marco to procrastinate," he said, marching up to the table and grabbing hold of a red backpack.

With a snarl that normally would've earned him a demerit from the librarian for displaying disgusting behavior, Jean yanked the bag out of Eren's hands.

Eren bared his teeth. "What the fuck, man? I'm just trying to get your shit together so we can go!"

"Go _where?_ It's a Thursday, there's no practice on Thursdays!"

"I'm tutoring you in chemistry, you dumb fuck! You asked me to tutor you! Do you_want_ to fail?"

Jean scowled and sank in his seat. "No."

"Then let's go, already. You can bring your boyfrie—"

"Fuck off." Jean shot up from his seat, making his chair thump to the carpeted floor. "You're sounding like a jealous, thirsty bitch. What, can't take it that I never kissed your ass for making the winning goal last season? Want me to lick your balls to make it up?"

Eren's face twisted with something akin to disgust. "Oh my God, that's so gay."

"Now you know how I feel, motherfucker."

At his side, someone coughed. "Jean."

_"What?"_ Jean hissed at whoever dared to intervene his hissy-fit with Eren Jaeger.

Hissy-fit. That's how he described their altercations. He and Eren were usually on neutral terms (meaning, they rarely made snide comments and meant it — at least, _Jean_ rarely meant it), but they'd hardly seen each other since their last game. Jaeger had been busy catching up with some distant cousin that appeared out of nowhere while Jean himself found he had his plate full with trying to pass two of his most distasteful classes. They'd been out of sync for a while because of that; comments that only used to bug them now riled them up, and jokes were interpreted as personal insults.

The 'hissy-fit' period only happened a few times out of the whole year, so it was more annoying than frustrating. Jean just learned to accept that, a few times out of the year, he'd hate Jaeger's guts and that during the other times he'd hate Jaeger's guts a little less.

Gut-hating or not, the little shit was one of his closest friends; a little scuffle here and a broken arm there wouldn't deter him from maintaining their friendship. Jaeger was like his brother; though, he hadn't a clue whether the dumb fuck felt the same. Probably because Jean would never bring it up cause that would mean he'd have to admit he actually _liked_ Jaeger as he is. Which he'd never admit.

Except maybe to Marco.

Yeah, Marco. Marco Bodt, good ol' Marco. Nicest guy around, that Marco. The guy knew when to conveniently forget what embarrassing shit you said or did years ago to help you save face. He was a genius, too, but he wasn't a smartass like Jaeger. And Marco put that genius to good use by helping everyone out with everything; the guy was practically Canadian. Like, holy _shit_, he was such a nice guy. Jean felt bad the guy hung around him so much; Jean was a spoiled, pompous dick half the time and a lazy son of a bitch during the other half. He hadn't a clue why Marco decided to be friends with him, but he wasn't gonna question it. Especially since Marco knew how to deal with Jean's flaring temper without beating the anger out of him.

Which is why he had probably asked Marco to be with him at the library while he waited for Jaeger's ugly face.

Yes, that meant he had been waiting for Jaeger to show up.

Yes, that also meant he had remembered Jaeger was tutoring him in chemistry, effective today.

Yes, that also meant he forgot that very thing he had remembered. (Which means Jaeger was right; Jean _did_ get distracted whenever Marco was around. The guy was just too great a listener, alright?)

And, uh, yeah, he kinda forgot Marco was still around while he and Jaeger were having their little hissy-fit.

Maybe Marco isn't the one who distracts him at all. Maybe he just distracts himself.

Probably.

_…_Nah.

Anyway.

Jean was honestly surprised when he saw Marco looking patiently up at him, even though a corner of his mind had just recalled that, yes, Marco was with him still. Jean glanced back at the chair that had been righted for him. Then he glanced up at Jaeger's face, still as ugly as ever with that scowl.

He stubbornly did not acknowledge the looks of the other students at the library. To hell with them; he didn't know them, so he didn't care. Stare all you want, motherfuckers, Jean Kirchstein does not give a damn about you.

But he did sit back down and he did shut up.

Because it was rude to shout and make a scene in the library. It was where people like Marco did whatever they did to maintain their genius and where people like himself figured out how to pass their classes.

While he sat and strewed a bit longer, he heard Marco speak to Eren. "Jean will be right out," he said, sounding gentle and not at all like Jean and smiling that "I'm being diplomatic" smile.

The scowl practically melted off Eren's face. It's that Canadian charm, you know. Marco's Canadian charm. Was he even Canadian? Jean should ask.

"Whatever," Eren huffed, rolling his eyes. "Just make sure he comes."

Jean watched Eren pivot on his heel and walk out of the library. He ignored the side-glances and stares from the students around them because, fuck you. He turned to Marco.

"You're too fucking good to be around us."

Marco only laughed. "Come on, let's get you packed up."

Jean grumbled about that comment ("You sound like my mom.") but complied. He shoved everything that was on the table into his bag, clicking his tongue in annoyance when a notebook slipped out of his hand and flopped to the ground. He picked it up and shoved it into his bag. He found another one of his notebooks on the ground and Jean grumbled again because he had to crawl under the table to get it.

"Nice view."

Jean almost hit his head on the way up. He looked up at Marco to see the guy grinning down at him with glee.

"Sorry, Jean," Marco laughed lightly.

"Yeah, yeah…"

Marco smiled down at him. You know. _Diplomatically_. "Does it still bother you?"

Jean hesitated. "Nah. It's just when Jaeger does it that it ticks me off. God, his voice is so fucking annoying_…_"

Marco hummed. "Maybe it's…" He waggled his eyebrows up and down. "_…_UST?"

Jean stared at him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"You don't know?" Marco raised an eyebrow. "It stands for unresolved sexual tension."

Jean narrowed his eyes in thought. "Oh. I think I've heard that somewhere befo— Wait, fuck off, are you serious?" He shoved Marco in the shoulder as he got up with his bag, ignoring Marco's delighted laughter. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? God. I'm not gay; quit making those comments, geez."

"That sounds an awful lot like denial—"

"Yeah, how about _no_."

They had just exited the library at this point, almost getting trampled by some short blond kid on the way out. It was quiet on campus; the winter holidays were only a few days away, and a lot of the university students had already gone home for the week.

Few people littered the wide paths on campus. It gave the place a sense of abandonment; the emptiness was foreign and unusual, highlighted by the fast-approaching darkness of night. Jean didn't miss the way Marco stayed closer to him more than he usually would; Marco denied this every time Jean brought it up, but he knew Marco was terrified of the dark. He remembered once when they were in middle school when their class went to see a movie for a book they were reading. Marco latched onto Jean the whole time as subtly as possible; grabbing his sleeve in the theater and making Jean eventually throw his jacket over himself to hide the fact that Marco was squeezing the blood out of his hand.

It was the most fucking hilarious memory he had of them. Marco hated whenever he brought it up, though. Which was often. Like, "twice a month" often.

God, he was such a jerk.

"Are you really okay with it?"

Startled abruptly out of his thoughts, for a second, Jean thought maybe he had said that last bit out loud. He decided to test things out. "What're you talking about?"

Yes, Jean. Denial is the way to go.

Marco raised an eyebrow. "You know."

Yeah, okay, that wasn't helpful at all.

He tried a different approach. "No, I don't. Marco, man, you know I don't remember shit if it's not a play on the field."

"That's not true," Marco said, and he slowed the two of them to a full stop. "You remember my birthday every year."

Jean rolled his eyes. "That's different. Your birthday's important."

Marco chuckled softly. "Thanks, Jean."

"Wow," someone said. "Much sweet. Such sappy."

Jean made a face and felt Marco discreetly take a step away from him. "Stuff it, Ymir."

The taller, older brunette flashed a wicked grin. "Never."

"Isn't that a bit outdated now?" Marco remarked with a hint of a laugh.

Ymir snorted. "Who cares? I like it." She grinned again. "It drives Krista insane."

Jean twisted his mouth in a grimace. "How does she stand you?"

Ymir's grin grew Cheshire-like. "She can't."

Krista was a grammar freak. She harbored all the characteristics of a grammar freak, but in an aggressively polite way. She styled all grammar-related corrections like soft, mild suggestions, gently leading you to the right tense or syntax. She beamed with pride when past offenders corrected their use of the English language without her direction and encouraged those who still struggled. She held her tongue when a particular offender wasn't appreciative of her help, and gently coaxed them into realizing why ending with prepositions should cease.

On top of that, she was a sweetheart with a soul that thirsted for charitable works. Even Marco wasn't that good. Compare to her, Marco was a normal guy.

Krista was a real, live, breathing fairy. A saint, Jean heard some people call her. A goddess, some have even said.

Jean never bought into that shit, especially after seeing how she behaved with Ymir. He hardly thought Krista had it in her to be aggressively aggressive (none of that "killing with kindness" shit she did all the time) until he heard Krista tell Ymir off and call her a "floundering bag of mouth-diarrhea."

Granted, it wasn't the worst thing that could've been said (especially about Ymir, that absolute _bitch_), but considering how docile Krista had been over the three years Jean knew her, it was quite a surprise.

It certainly caught Ymir off guard. In fact, Ymir was so fascinated at the sudden flip-flop of personality that she hasn't been able to leave Krista alone ever since.

_"To see how far I can push her,"_ Ymir once told him.

Jean hooked his thumbs into the straps of his backpack. "You know what you're doing is borderline harassment."

"Heh. It's not harassment if it's wanted."

Jean blinked. "What."

"Well, I'm off. See you two cuties when it's warm. Don't bang each other too much without me. I'll get jealous."

Jean shot her a flat look. "Right. Okay."

"Wait," Marco cut in, sounding surprised. "When it's warm?"

"I'm studying abroad, freckles. I'm going overseas on a plane. _Nyoooom_."

Jean rolled his eyes while Marco gave her an ecstatic high-five.

"That's great!" Marco cheered. "Where are you going to?"

"Rome. Fiestas and siestas, here I come."

Jean saw Marco give Ymir a blank look. They looked to each other for a beat. Then, Jean finally said it;

"Fiesta and siesta are Spanish words."

Ymir fanned her hand in front of her face. "Oh, whatever. They have those in Rome, too. I think. Anywa_…_" Ymir slugged Jean and Marco in the shoulder. "See you two lovebirds in the spring," she leered. "And tell Eren I said goodbye! Definitely let him know, okay? I owe him cash, but I don't have anything on me right now. Gotta save up, you know? Tell him I'll pay him back when I'm back."

She ran off before they could put in a word.

Jean rubbed his shoulder. "I hate it when she does that."

"The punching, or…"

"Yes, the punching! She's a boxer! Doesn't she know when to take it easy?"

"So it only bothers you when Eren makes those jokes?"

Jean felt his brow crease. "What? What jokes—?"

"She called us lovebirds. That didn't seem to bother you."

"Oh. I don't know, Marco. I guess it depends? I— I don't… I don't really know."

"_…_Sorry. Do you not want to talk about it?"

Jean didn't answer immediately. Not because he didn't want to say no and he was trying to wiggle out of it. Marco was okay; Marco was safe. He didn't really mind when it was Marco. But… He needed to know why_…_ Jean looked up. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"Why do you keep asking me?"

Marco stared at him for a while. All traces of humor and amusement were wiped off his face, and Jean felt the weight of the stare hang uncomfortably between them. He waited a bit longer to see if—

"I love you, Jean—"

Jean felt his chest tighten.

_What—?_

"—You're my best friend. I don't know, I guess that's why I'm just different with you than with everyone else. And I guess, you know, I just express it in a different way. I know it's gotten you into trouble in middle school—"

Jean stomach leadened. "Do we have to talk about that right now?"

"—but you've never told me to stop. So, I don't know. I see you get upset when Eren or Connie make the same comments, and sometimes Ymir really gets on your nerves when she does it too, and you get annoyed when I do it—"

"No, I don't."

"_Yes_, you _do_. Not always, but sometimes it throws you off. And when that happens I always ask if it's okay. You tell me it's fine when _I_ do it, but it's _not_ fine, not always. And I just feel really— really _bad_, you know, like I'm being a bad friend to you whenever you lie like that, so I just— That's why I keep asking. Because I don't— I _never_ want to hurt you, Jean, or make you feel like you have to go along with whatever I do or say because you feel like you can't tell me to stop."

It was quiet when Marco stopped talking. His cheeks were flushed from… from the cold weather, or the effort of talking so much at once, or being upset, or— or… God, he didn't fucking _know_. But it wasn't making him happy; Marco didn't _look_ happy, so Jean didn't _feel_ happy. He kinda felt like crap.

So, that's just what he said.

"I… I feel like crap."

Wow. Such eloquence. Much brilliant. A-plus, Kirchstein.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Marco. You shouldn't— You don't have to—" Jean stopped himself and just shook his head. "You're too good for me, Marco."

"Glad to see you know it."

Jean always knew it, but he was surprised to hear Marco admit to it. He almost cringed; how long had Marco been waiting to say that? He almost didn't want to look up.

But when he did, he was pleasantly surprised.

Marco was grinning at him.

Jean laughed and looked off to the side. "Look, man. You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm just… I don't know. Sometimes I'm okay, sometimes I'm not. Like I said, it really depends. But I've never lied to you before, and I'm not about to start anytime soon. I'm really okay when it's you. Like, you know me. You were there, and you're still here. You're — You're safe, Marco. I feel— I feel safe with you. So, it's— You know. It's… It's good. It's fine."

"And if it's ever _not_ fine—"

"Then I'll tell you to back off," Jean promised. "Maybe not how I tell Eren or Connie off, but— You know."

Marco laughed. "I think if it ever gets to that, I'd deserve it."

Jean made a face. "Nah, man. Eren's a little shit and Connie's shit for brains. You're — You're fucking gold, man. Seriously. I have no idea why you even hang around me."

Marco clapped a hand on his shoulder and raised a brow suggestively. "It's because of that handsome face, Jean."

Jean ruffled Marco's hair, enjoying the laughing protest he earned. "Not as handsome as yours."

"Wow. You guys are so fucking gay for each other."

Irritation spiked up Jean's spine at the sound of that voice. He whirled around and glared. "Fuck off, Jaeger."

"Oh, sure," Eren sneered. "Let me do that. Let me just drop all the fucks I have and skip home so I can play video games while you fail chemistry and get kicked off the soccer field for good."

Jean gave Eren a pointed look. "I shit you not, Mikasa said a version of exactly that the last time I asked her out. Which was yesterday. While you were standing next to her."

"Oh, shut up. I came back because you were taking too long. I thought you got lost, so like the good Samaritan I am, I came back for you, only to find that you were flirting—"

"Watch it."

"—_wasting time_," Eren kindly corrected, "with Marco." Eren crossed his arms when he was done, as if it would help him make a point.

Jean rolled his eyes. Eren was such a drama queen. Though, he supposed he was too.

Speaking of drama queens…

"Hey. Ymir says bye."

Eren furrowed his brow. "What?"

"She's going to Rome next semester."

Eren's anger at Jean shifted over immediately. "_What?_ But she still owes me— Augh, why do I even— Wait, who'd you hear that from?"

"Ymir, you dumb fuck."

Eren scowled. "It could've been someone else."

"Yeah, okay. Cause Ymir has _tons_ of friends."

"She's got Krista."

"Krista hates her guts."

"Krista's hot for her."

Jean blanched. "What?"

Eren gave him a dubious look. "You didn't know?

Jean scowled. "No, I didn't know." He turned to Marco. "Did you know about this?"

Marco scratched the side of his face. "Uh, yeah, actually. I thought you'd have figured it out by now."

Jean made a face. "No, I wouldn't know shit like that. Marco, dude, you keep putting way too much faith in my ability to figure shit out."

Marco smiled. "Well, I just think highly of you, Jean."

Jean hesitated. He ignored Eren's mock-gagging in the background and just stared at Marco's smiling face. "You're a fucking liar."

Marco's smile turned into a grin. "See? You can figure things out."

"Congratulations," Eren deadpanned. "Your flirting has reached new heights. You are now officially the most annoying couple on campus."

Jean flipped Eren off and slung an arm heavily around Marco's shoulders. "You're just jealous of our bromance. Right, Marco?"

Marco only smiled.

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	2. I got high on cake

WHERE FEET MAY FAIL  
>written by <strong>A. E. Stover<strong>  
>This version is <strong>not edited<strong>

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I'm so sorry this is so long. Fuck.

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**[02] I got high and dated Kepler in college**

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They never got to study chemistry.

Instead, Jean got to learn something else entirely, something that was completely random but still held a significant level of importance in life.

He learned how many jump scares he could go through without outright pissing his pants.

It's 7.

They spent the whole night playing Five Nights at Freddy's in one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor. It was just three dudes and the game. Lights were out, door was shut, speakers turned up to max, bags and books kicked out of sight, and empty soda cans and chip bags sprinkled the floor along with scattered articles of clothing Eren swore were clean.

Jean believed him. He was wearing one of those shirts right now (because Jaeger sprayed him with soda like some shit-for-brains fifth-grader); a green one with the Triforce emblazoned proudly on the front. Because that was _his_ fucking shirt, not Eren's.

Damn motherfucking thief.

Eren would've gotten away with it, if he hadn't tried to "tidy things up" by dumping everything into the hamper. The shirt had been overlooked during Eren's hasty game of pick-up and was reclaimed by its rightful owner after a brief argument. Eren's need to keep the room clean won, which granted Jean the shirt and Eren a clear conscience as he dumped everything into the hamper.

Jean thanked the Lord for making Eren's cousin Levi an insane clean-freak. It was probably gonna backfire on them, seeing as how the room was littered with trash and tiny chip crumbs that could take forever to vacuum out.

But that was why the door was shut.

_Anyway_…

Of the three of them, Marco was the only one who made it to the end of the week in one go. Eren died on Day 2 and Jean died a little after 2 AM on Day 3.

Bum-rushing foxes. Nobody told him such a thing existed.

Their terrifying experience together could have been worse. They could have gotten drunk (or mildly high) before they played it, but none of them had the balls for that shit yet, and they didn't wanna scare Marco off because he actually decided to stay with them for once.

Jean was surprised Marco even agreed to stay overnight in the first place, let alone participate, considering the nature of the game. But Marco did fantastically during his run, even if Eren tried to fuck up his string of good luck with shock scares and fake calls of _"WATCH OUT!"_

Jean punched Eren a few times to convince the idiot not to add his own jump scares while Marco played. Because Marco didn't deserve shit like that. And because Jean was still in the "I-fucking-hate-your-guts" phase with Eren anyway.

What could have easily escalated into a fight was smothered down when Mikasa entered the room with a bang (of the door, that is). She'd come home after work to bloodcurdling screams and lots of thumping around, which horrified her at first and pissed her off second when she found out it was all over a game.

And if the party hadn't hit crazy enough already, it did when Eren's cousin Levi graciously dropped in to tell them all to "shut the fuck up" before he "shove[d] the laptop so far up [their] asses, [they'll] be shitting Freddy McShitFace for a week."

That was Jean's 7th jump scare. He pissed a little in his pants.

_Shhhh_, don't tell Jaeger.

They played on anyway; Eren had the bright idea of locking his door, Marco lowered the volume on the speakers because they were all too lazy to get the headphones from downstairs, and Jean was taking another run through the game. It was nearing 3 AM in real time, Jean was on his 3rd day, and he was just an hour away from hitting Day 4.

Jean flicked through the cameras. 20% power at 5 AM was pretty great. Even if Bonnie or Chica decided to camp outside his doors, he figured he'd be able to ride it out considering how far past 5-AM territory the game had brought him. He kept tabs just in case, and hoped Foxy's grinning face was the only thing he'd see of the mechanical terror on Day 3.

He alternated between checking Pirate's Cove and the two doorways off-camera. His breathing was steady; he wasn't as prone to freaking out over every little detail as he'd initially done. Jean was still sweating, though now it was partly because Mikasa refused to let anyone lower the thermostat and Marco turned into a koala halfway through the night and latched onto his back.

It reminded him of middle school, if middle school was literally suffocating and weighed heavily on his shoulders. He thought about that one class trip to the movies, and a few other instances when Marco had clung to him because of some irrational fear. He thought about how Marco never really grew out of the habit and instead just evolved, going from simple sleeve-tugging and shoulder-grabbing, to arm-hooking and, well… Koala-latching.

That's what this one was. Marco was a koala bear and Jean was its prized piece of real estate. Nothing screamed BEST FRIENDS FOREVER like a pair of over-protective, clingy guys. No homo or yes homo? Jean didn't know. He knew it was weird, but that was about it. He didn't really think about it too much, really.

Until now. 'Cause his back was sweating something fierce and he was pretty sure Marco was sweating all over him, too. Ew. Didn't Marco notice that? Did Marco even realize how weird they probably looked right now? Didn't Eren notice how weird they looked?

"Hey, Jean."

Speak of the devil. The devil's shit. The devil's little shit. That was Eren. Now that Eren was witness to Marco's secret life as a koala, Jean would have to get rid of him. Because being the little shit of the devil he was meant Jean was gonna be buried under a whole new collection of cracks about them two. Always aimed to hit Jean, of course. Because Eren and Marco magically formed some kind of secret bros-before-hos type of bond within the last month. Last year, they even wore matching costumes on Halloween. Those shitheads.

Jean thinks it's because of their majors. They were both pre-med losers. They'd shared a lot of major reqs together, and suddenly the two science geeks swapped electrons and covalently bonded together. It was beautiful. And Jean appreciated beauty. So guess what major Jean'll switch to next semester? Haha— Hell no, that was a _joke_. _Fuck_ pre-med. He's sticking to photography to his death.

_"Jean."_

"Ha?" was Jean's intelligent response.

Eren shuffled closer to him. From the corner of his eye, Jean saw a shit-eating grin plastered over Eren's face. His skin tingled hotly as irritation started to boil inside him. Just what the fuck did Jaeger want _this_ ti—

"Can I sit on your lap?"

Jean shoved his hand into Eren's laughing face. "Get away from me, you cree—!"

The sound of a child's laugh floated out from the computer's speakers.

Marco's gasping shriek made Jean freeze in place as fear inched its way down his spine.

Beside him, Eren practically frothed at the mouth. "_Holyshitholyshitholyshit—_"

Marco's arm tightened around Jean's neck, pushing a dying whine out of Jean's throat.

Marco was oblivious. "W-What happened?"

Jean forcefully swallowed the pinpricks of terror that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "Hey," he managed to choke out, patting Marco's hand, "take the koala impression down a notch, will yo—?"

"HOLY _SHIT_, JEAN, HOLY_SHIT_HOLY_SHIT_HOLY_**SHIT**_—"

The trickle of terror running down his spine shot violently back up to his head. "_WHAT_, Eren?" Jean shouted, one part frustration and one part of panicky 'what the fuck, Eren?' Alright, two parts of that. "What is it?"

_"GET OFF THE CAMERA!"_

Immediately, Jean switched back to the office. A slouched animatronic sat unmoving in the middle of the office.

To his credit, Marco only yelped and flew backwards, leaving Jean's back icy cold and damp in an instant.

Eren, being the good pal he was, tried to help out.

Key word: _tried_.

"GET BACK ON— JEAN, GET BACK ON — _GET BACK ON,_ GOD_DAMMIT!"_

"GET ON _WHAT?"_ Jean panicked, raising his voice because he was pissed off at Eren's unhelpful backseat gaming and definitely _not_ because he was terrified at the decrepit, dirty-yellow piece of—

"SHITSHITSHIT DO IT NOW, _DO IT NOW—"_

The screen flickered; Jean caught a flash of "_**IT'S ME**"_ in crooked, bold lettering and kicked in the keyboard drawer with a shout of "_GOD_FUCKING_DAMMIT!"_

Marco, at this time, was laughing between harsh breaths as he lay on his back on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes.

Eren, at this time, was getting in his face.

"JEAN, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET BACK ON THE CAMERA!"

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT'S WHAT YOU MEANT BY 'GET BACK ON'?"

"WHAT ELSE COULD THAT POSSIBLY MEAN?"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

Eren's door ripped open with a bang. _Again_.

Everyone jumped. Jean's heart chose that moment to clench long and hard with fear. For a second, Jean thought his life was going to end that way: literally scared to death. Because his chest grew really, painfully tight, as if his heart had gone into cardiac arrest.

Then adrenaline pumped his heart into full-on thrash mode. Just in time, too, because his brain took that exact moment to register the figure standing at the door. The figure who was very silent, very angry, and very _short_.

It could only be Levi.

Eren scrambled off the bed the moment Levi spoke, eyes wider than Jean had ever seen them. He turned off his monitor, shut off his speakers, and even drew out the wooden panel from the stand that would hide his computer from view. Then he started collecting the garbage from the floor and ran into the bathroom with everything bundled in his arms.

Jean wanted to know why the fuck Eren dove into the bathroom with all that garbage when there was a wastebasket_ right there_ next to the door. He would've asked out loud if he weren't so fucking terrified of Levi.

Fun fact: Levi Ackerman was Mikasa's older brother, who said he was just a librarian at Trost University when in fact everyone knew the guy probably killed people for a living. 'Cause why else would the police and detectives come to see him so often?

…Unless they really _were_ his friends, as they claimed. ("We're just having a chat." "We're good friends, really!" "It's good to catch up every now and then, no?")

It'd be a whole lot easier to believe if Levi didn't snarl and scowl at them like he did with everyone else. ("Fuck off, _all_ of you. Get out of my library.")

Except Eren. ("You. Get out." "But I need references for—" "Here. Now get out." "How did you know—" _"Get. Out."_) With Eren, there was minimal snarling and just a ton of exasperation, thick sarcasm, and a questionable number of shit jokes. Which basically meant that Levi had a soft spot for Eren.

…Which probably meant Eren was in on the killing, too, if that really was a thing.

Now that he really thought about it, Jean couldn't see how _Eren_ could get involved with something like that and not royally fuck it up. So maybe Levi wasn't a mass murderer. Maybe he was just a university librarian suffering from some kind of personality disorder as a means to cope after the tragic death of his loving parents.

As if sensing his thoughts that painted Levi in a despicably pitiful light, Levi turned his sharp gaze right at him.

Or maybe he was a mass murderer. Not pitying at all. Nope.

With Levi's eyes on him, Jean felt just like the night guard each time he came face-to-face with Foxy. Because regardless of whether or not Levi killed people for a living, the bottom line remained: Levi was fucking terrifying.

"You, with the ridiculous hair. Close your mouth. You'll drool on the sheets," said Levi.

"Uh," Jean said, because he was an eloquent little fuck. But he shut his mouth. He didn't even know it was hanging open. There was no relief when Levi stopped looking his way. If anything, the tension surmounted.

By the time Eren emerged from the bathroom, two solid minutes of absolute silence had ticked on by. Eren was leaning against the closed bathroom door, and while Jean didn't see the look on his face (he was too busy keeping an eye on Levi), he'd seen this situation play out all too often to know there was a stupid look on his face. What came next in the pattern was Eren babbling a series of apologies that would be spoken so fast, it would sound like nonsense.

"Are you… Are you_ leaving?"_

…

_…?_

Uh. Uh?

That… That didn't sound like a babble of nonsensical apology.

There was a note of genuine distress in Eren's tone that wasn't related to fear. It hit something in Jean to hear it, and watched Levi's face carefully, trying to pull out the foreign story from the source.

Jean didn't know why he thought Levi would give him anything. His face proved to be as helpfully revealing as a blank wall. The duffel on the floor beside Levi gave some context. It wasn't particularly big, but Jean had the feeling it wasn't the only bag he'd packed. Knowing it was no use to speculate when all he had was one plain duffel, Jean turned to look at Eren, and… Oh.

Oh _wow_.

There was a whole slew of emotions on Eren's face. Jean caught the slight shake in Eren's shoulders and arms, and knew he was doing his best to hold himself together — though, over _what_ exactly Jean had no idea. From the looks of it, it seemed like Eren was reaching a breaking point. And if it was about Levi, then… It probably went deeper and longer than Jean could imagine.

To think that Eren was going through shit and he didn't even _know—!_ Jean wanted to kick himself in the ass.

He turned to Marco then, to silently tell him that when this blew over they were going to sit Eren down and figure out what exactly was going on. But he saw no trace of confusion on Marco's face. Rather, there was a lot of worry, a lot of pity, a lot of anticipation.

He _knew!_ Jean realized with a crash of— of _something_. Marco knew! Marco _knew_ about this; Eren had told _Marco_ about this, and Jean had _no idea—!_

"You said you were going to stay."

Levi sighed. Not in the way Jean always heard, exasperated or bored, but in the way his mom would sigh back when he was in high school and heard he was fighting again.

"You said—"

Levi's brow furrowed deeply. _"Eren."_

Eren actually flinched.

Without knowing why, Jean rose to his feet. Marco stood up too, looking nervously back and forth between Jean and Eren. He didn't know why, but that _pissed—him—off._ Enough to say something, even with Levi there, because it just wasn't— it wasn't—

Jean clenched his fists, opened his mouth, and—

—Eren's phone buzzed in his pocket.

The unwanted growing tumor called tension stopped its metastasizing. Levi took the chance to grab his duffel from the floor and leave. Jean watched Eren stare after Levi's retreating back. The room was filled with the sound of Eren's phone buzzing away and the awkward silence that accompanied everyone's collective wonderings of how to recover the happy.

After his phone buzzed a fifth time, Eren fished it out of his pocket and squinted down at the screen.

"Pizza's here," Eren mumbled, keeping his eyes down on his phone. "I'll be back."

Jean watched Eren cross the room at a brisk pace, keeping his eyes down all the way out of the room. Once he was sure Eren was out of earshot, Jean turned to face Marco. "You know," he said accusingly.

Marco held Jean's gaze for a moment before he looked away. "I… I know a little."

He knew! And it just—! Jean stopped his thoughts right where they were, because no, he _wasn't_— He squeezed his eyes shut and growled. "Well?" he said instead. "What's going on?"

Marco's lips thinned to a grimace. "I really shouldn't."

"I don't need details, Marco, just…_ Something!"_ Because Jean and Eren— They were supposed to have each other's backs! And now they _don't_ because Jean was failing a class, his footwork was getting sloppy, his parents got on his case about inheriting titles, and he was too busy running away from everything and chasing after the world with a stupid camera and _forgetting_ how messed up Eren actually was and letting the little shit get under his skin without trying to figure out _why_ he was being a little shit in the first place and he…

He felt like a bad friend. He felt like Marco, from hours earlier. Not the Marco of right now, because the Marco of right now knew what was going on; it was the Marco of right now and Eren who were tight, not Jean and Eren, because Jean was an absolute dick. He was _always_ an absolute dick. Why the _fuck_ was he such an absolute dick?

"Marco," he tried again, "I _need_ to know. _Please_. Just— Just one thing, okay? One thing."

Marco hesitated, eyes glancing at the door for the briefest of seconds. And when Marco turned back with a sigh and that look on his face, he _knew_— Jean knew he got him. All he needed was a push, just a _little_ push, and good ol' Marco who can't say no would tell him what he needed.

"Marco," Jean started, making sure to drop his voice down to a whisper. He closed the distance between them and took hold of Marco by the shoulders. "Marco, this is _Eren_ we're talking about. We're his best friends— we're like _family_ to him. We can't let him ride this out by himself! Didn't you see his face? You saw his face, right? He's keeping shit in again! And you know how he gets when he—"

Marco's eyes shut tight. "Jean, _stop_." The way Marco's voice wavered almost poured guilt into him. "Eren doesn't— He just doesn't want to talk to you about it."

Jean felt like somebody just whacked the back of his head.

With that hit, a memory dislodged and came to life. It replayed in his head quickly, a little bit fuzzy, but enough for him to recognize and consciously follow it through.

It was about one of his old high school fights, the one one between him and some guy named Marlon. Jean was just a freshman then, finally broken in and pissy because of it, and he'd done something to tick off a senior named Marlon. It must've been something he said, because Jean can't remember doing anything to the guy and he was a complete asshole all through high school to everyone, so it _must've_ been something he said.

Marlon and two of his friends caught Jean off guard one day and sent him to the hospital with a broken leg and a minor concussion. According to Marco, Eren caught wind of what had happened while hanging in the Principal's office. Right after the Principal dismissed him, Eren left school to find Marlon. Eren followed Marlon home, waited until Marlon got high off his rocks, and smashed Marlon's head into the toilet.

Because he was a _shithead_.

Eren was arrested and was supposed to head right to juvie. But for some reason, none of that ever happened. He wasn't even expelled. Just suspended.

And while it relieved Mikasa, it made her job as his primary caretaker at just nineteen years old all that more difficult. He didn't seem to care about repercussions, or consequences, or social stigmas, because _"every goddamn motherfucker should get what they deserve"_ and _"you don't fucking touch [his] friends."_

They weren't even friends back then.

At least, _Jean_ thought they weren't friends. Eren obviously thought another thing entirely, even if their first instinct upon meeting was to beat each other's faces in.

Jean was still in the hospital when Marco told him about everything about Eren. And that's when he figured, you know, what the hell. Life was short. If there was a guy who smashed another guy's head into a toilet for you after knowing you for just a day (and after a fist fight, too), then, well, _shit_, let's be friends. Why not? Let's be chummy and watch each other's backs.

And they did just that. And a good thing they did, because they weren't liked in high school for the choices they made for their lives. Things only changed when Eren had the bright idea of trying out for soccer. Jean was pretty good at it; he had a strong kick and fierce tackle game. But Eren was a godsend. He tore through the games, wrecking anyone and anything that got in his way. He was the reason things really changed; the team swallowed and bent over for him, and so did everyone else in that school. They proved even pansies could wreck shit on the field, and they wrecked things hard and good when they were together.

That was the crux of their relationship. It was weird, so their relationship was weird. You know, like. Throw fists at each other, laugh and get drunk, maybe a little high, and then fuck up whoever screamed fag.

Jean had always thought they'd stay that way. Piss at each other, but still have each other's backs.

Obviously, Eren thought another thing entirely. Which shouldn't come as a surprise, because it wasn't the first time Jean had been wrong about what Eren thought about him. About what it means to be friends with someone.

Marco seemed to be attuned to his thoughts, because suddenly his eyes got really big and he made some stuttering noises really unlike his articulate self. "Oh, man, uh. I-I didn't mean— Well, _he_ didn't mean it like that. He's not shutting you out, Jean, and he's not— He's not… whatever you're thinking, which I know is gonna be, um. Not what it's supposed to be. It's— He just… He just knows how you'd get. If you knew, that is. And, um, well—"

The door creaked open at that moment, making Marco shrink into himself and Jean whip his head around so hard he thought he'd break his neck.

Eren stood at the doorway, face shaped with displeasure and all forms of irritation. "Stop harassing Marco, Horseface."

Jean squashed the instinctive urge to throw back an insult. He applauded his self-control when all he did was clench his fists at his sides. His hands were forced to unclench when a 2-liter bottle of soda was tossed in his direction. Jean caught the coke and watched as Eren handed the pizza to Marco.

Not a single word was said nor a single look exchanged between Eren and Marco the whole time.

Eren gave the two of them a quick once over. "I'm fine," he finally spoke, looking to Jean. "I just. I just need time. To adjust. It's… It's that _thing_ again."

Jean's mind wound down.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Shit. _Fuck_. He was an _ass_.

Jean stilled. He didn't reply, because… Because he didn't really know what to say or do when Eren happened to be having one of his episodes. He didn't even know if Eren was okay with him calling it "episodes." Mikasa sure didn't.

"Did you forget again?" he asked stupidly.

"I didn't _forget_," Eren snapped, his sudden spikes in anger now making sense. "I don't need them."

"Eren," Marco started cautiously, while Jean narrowed his eyes at Eren's idiot face, "please don't do this to yourself again."

"I said I don't _need_ them," Eren hissed.

Jean stepped forward. "Whaddya mean you don't need them? They're prescribed. Of course you need them, you piece of _shi—!"_

"I'll be right back," Eren said icily, and left before Jean could say anything else.

Jean and Marco both stood in silence in the middle of the guest bedroom, staring dumbly at the closed door and holding onto the food. The quiet atmosphere lifted almost instantly; Jean's ears pricked at the sound of approaching footsteps.

The doorknob turned.

"Look, Eren," Jean tried again, setting the bottle of soda on the floor and marching up to the door, "I know you don't like taking them, but you're not making things better by— Okay, wow, _you're_ not Eren."

"Duly noted." The door shut quietly behind one Mikasa Ackerman, who walked immediately up to Marco and opened the pizza box while it was still in his hands.

"Um," Marco said, voice muffled by the cardboard lid in his face. Jean was able to see his face after Mikasa withdrew a slice and closed the box.

Mikasa folded her slice in half and held it near the crust. Oil dripped down to the carpet. Mikasa appeared not to notice; or she did, and knew exactly what she was doing. She took a bite out of her pizza, not fazed by the steaming slice topped with sausage, onions, peppers, and pineapple (that was Jean's thing) that would have burned the roof of any normal person's mouth. She chewed solemnly, staring straight ahead to the window on the other side of the room. She swallowed the masticated food in her mouth, glanced down at the carpet for a second or two, and took another bite, squeezing the slice in her hand and letting oil ooze and dribble down to the carpet below.

Jean and Marco exchanged uneasy looks.

Mikasa was the only person they knew who didn't fear Levi like everyone else. Maybe because she was pretty freaky, too. She was 27 years old, owned three of the biggest houses in Trost's elite sector, wore sleek black dresses and pearls, and could hurl adult males three times her size and weight all the way across a dojo without breaking a sweat. Jean had no idea what she did for a living, aside from the fact that she worked from 6 AM to 10 AM in one location and 7 PM to 1 AM in another.

She was also really, _really_ attractive. "Drop-dead," "looks-could-kill" kind of attractive. "Fatal Attraction" kind of attractive.

Mikasa chewed and chewed and chewed her food. It was so quiet, Jean could hear when her molars mashed the roasted peppers and onions; it was a wet crunching sound that hushed down to soft gnashing. Her pretty face, devoid of all expression, took the consumption of the massive, greasy bite of pizza into an art form; her lips, shiny with pizza oil, stayed clamped shut as her mouth trapped the wad of chewed vegetables, crust, cheese, and tomato sauce in one bulging cheek. Her blank eyes were dark as always, glazed just slightly with disinterest, and half-lidded from the effort of caring.

She looked like a very bored, very hungry hamster.

When Mikasa swallowed the food in her mouth and next spoke, Jean couldn't believe what he heard.

"Levi watched Eren flush the pills down the toilet. Then he fucked Eren while he relapsed."

Mikasa opened the folded slice of pizza in her hand and studied it while Marco and Jean reeled from the news. Mikasa dropped the slice face-down into the carpet.

Marco gasped, and Jean took a wary step back.

With her bare foot, Mikasa stomped down on it, the grease and tomato sauce splattering with a dark squish, and ground the pizza into the carpet with her heel. She began muttering lowly under her breath, eyes starting to alight with something that spiked fear that iced Jean's veins.

"I'll _kill_ him," Jean heard Mikasa snarl to the carpet.

That's when Jean grabbed Marco by the wrist, picked up their stuff, and left the room.

They finished off half the pizza by themselves in the kitchen, talking about nothing in general. After realizing Eren wasn't going to be back any time soon, they wrapped up the leftovers and stuck it in the fridge before going home.

On their way out, they saw Levi's duffel bag on the front porch.

Just the duffel bag.

No Levi.

No Eren.

Just the bag.

.

.

.

They tried studying again a week later.

The first thing Jean noticed when he entered the guest bedroom was that the carpet was gone. In its place was clean hardwood flooring that reminded Jean of his father's home office.

"I like it," Marco said, tapping a socked foot against it with a smile. "It's nostalgic. My house used to have hardwood before we got carpeting."

Eren snorted. "You were totally the type to slide around in socks, weren't you?"

Marco laughed. "I was! Man, was that fun!" Then his expression flattened. "Well. It _was_ fun. Until I knocked over an urn."

Jean arched a brow. Eren echoed questioningly: "An urn?"

Marco smiled weakly. "It was my grandmother's."

The three of them fell into a moment of silence after that.

They were sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, their backs against the bedsheets that weren't made quite as neatly as they should be. They pitched into their own thoughts for a while, basking in the quiet of normalcy and the vague scent of lavender Febreeze. It was only a few days before Jean's chemistry final, a few days before the holiday season, and a few days before the earth completed yet another orbit around the Sun. And it would pick up another cycle right after, no breaks, no off-time; nothing at all like Jean. Nothing at all like any of them.

"I disagree," Marco said brightly, startling the shit out of Jean and continuing right on as if he didn't cause a minor heart attack. "Planetary orbits are sustained by the gravitational pull of the Sun, correct? Then they have a limited existence, so to speak."

"Yeah, but they don't take breaks or anything. _That's_ what Horseface is saying. Right?"

Jean blinked his eyes rapidly. "Uh…"

Marco chuckled as Eren leaned forward with a sneer.

"You were thinking of some deep, introspective space shit back there. We're nothing at all like the earth's orbital period? What the fuck? Are you high again?"

Jean rolled his eyes. "Maybe. Connie gave me a brownie in class."

Marco cracked a smile. "Connie sure likes to bake."

Eren gave a barking laugh and elbowed Marco in the side. Grinning, Jean sank his head into the bedsheets just as Eren launched into a narrative about a space cake Connie made last year for someone's birthday.

Jean remembered that. It had been spectacular, really. Smooth, thoughtful swipes of icing turned the cake into Uranus, and the rich chocolate was almost sinful. The real sin hit an hour later, when Mary Jane crashed them long and hard, taking them all (except for one) by surprise.

Jean remembered finishing his physics coursework that night. It wasn't on his list of things to do or anything; it just… came to be. He'd tripped over his bag and cried as everything fell out, and spent what seemed like half an hour sluggishly shoving everything back in when the realization of just how _awful_ his physics grades were seized him by the neck. He spent the next three hours pouring over texts about projectile motions, electricity, magnetism, and gravitational forces.

Then he and the guys hit up a nearby Denny's and a Chipotles before passing out.

The next few days after that were a blur. He'd passed Physics with a miraculous C+. He improved his strikes and footwork on the field. And he couldn't stop thinking about space.

The earth was hurtling towards the sun. And the sun was pushing it back. And that force just made the earth go _around_ the sun. Things didn't just end there; the moon was pushing at the earth, and billions upon billions of stars were pushing at each other, and cosmic collisions created black holes, and there were black holes at the center of every galaxy, and people were but a speck of dust floating in one of the 170 billions of galaxies in the observable universe.

But suppose the earth stopped in its orbit.

Earth then has a death clock of sixty-four 24-hour days before it pitched itself into the sun. But when it goes, does anything else go? What happens to the moon? What happens to Mars? Venus? Does their solar system depend on Earth's gravity to stay in place, or is Earth an unnecessary floating rock?

"Huh. If earth stops orbiting, that that mean time would, you know, stop? Would we have permanent night zones and day zones?"

"And the twilight zone?" Marco added with a grin.

Jean scowled, not caring that he'd been talking out loud again. "What does that matter? We start dropping dead on day 21. Having 'zones' don't matter."

"I'm just asking, is all," Eren hissed. "Geez. I don't get mad at you for interrupting my space cake story and you get all pissy at me for asking a question. Well, fuck you too."

"You fucking suck at telling stories."

"Yeah, you'd know all about sucking, wouldn't yo—"

Marco coughed loudly into his fist. "OKAY! I think the idea of time stopping is _very_ interesting," he practically shouted, smiling rather brightly at the both of them. "We should talk about that! Jean, what do you think?"

Jean acquiesced, dropping his head back down onto the bed. The resignation lasted all but three seconds, because the next thing that flew out of his mouth was: "I think it's fucking stupid."

Beside him, Marco sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

Eren took the bait. "Neil deGrasse Tyson wouldn't think it's fucking stupid."

"Neil deGrasse Tyson would tell you to elaborate on your definition of 'time,' you little shit."

Eren, for some reason, grew livid. "Time is time! There's only _one_ definition of time! And only _one_ 'time' exists! So shut the fuck up, 'cause you don't know anything—!"

"TIME TRAVEL!" Marco shouted with a big smile, both arms crashing on Eren and Jean's shoulders. "Let's talk about time travel!"

Jean pushed himself away from Marco, breaking free fairly quickly, and shot Eren a dirty look.

Eren shook free from Marco and ran his fingers through his messy hair, pulling it back as neatly as he could. "Marco, _no,"_ he muttered, glaring at the floor.

"Ah, right. Sorry."

Hearing Marco apologize to Eren made Jean grit his teeth. There was _nothing_ to apologize for. Eren was just being a petulant five-year-old, and Marco didn't need to feel sorry about Eren suddenly having a stick up his ass. With a withering look, Jean turned to Eren. "You think time stopping is interesting, but don't wanna talk about time travel? Yeah, okay."

Eren picked his head up to send Jean a strange, pensive look. It was an unprecedented change in mood; not in the way that made Jean want to ask if Eren didn't take his meds again that morning, but in the way that made Jean think of high school again.

He thought about one specific incident, when some weird guy asked Eren if he had any change for a five and accidentally bit his tongue when some lady off to the side shouted at him to "hurry up." Eren had just been staring at the guy the whole time, not saying a word. Expectedly, the guy got huffy and demanded to know why Eren was just staring "like a freak." Instead of starting a piss battle, Eren had just smiled sheepishly and apologized, making up some bullshit story about not being fluent in English. Then Eren gave the guy five singles without taking the five-dollar bill and told him to "have a great day."

It was the first time Jean had seen Eren so polite and affable. He wouldn't have even bothered to remember it for any other reason if Eren currently wasn't making the exact same face he'd used to stare at the weird guy.

And this time, it was at him.

"Hey." Eren began gently, not breaking his eyes away from Jean. "If you could go back in time, what year would you go back to?"

Jean narrowed his eyes. "What's with you?" He looked to Marco for some kind of clarity, but was surprised to see Marco staring at him with an intensity he'd never seen before. He looked back to Eren again, his sudden identity as a third wheel cranking frustration through his system faster than he liked. "What's up with yo—"

"Just answer the question, Horseface."

Marco smiled encouragingly.

Jean gave in with a long sigh. "I don't know? Maybe… ten years from now? You know. To see if what I'm doing."

It was the wrong thing to say. Marco didn't show it because he was smiling that smile, but Eren's disappointment was as clear as day.

And it kind of pissed him off.

"Why?" Jean asked Eren, narrowing his eyes. "You given some thought to it?"

"Yeah," Eren affirmed, eyes lighting up in a way that actually sends a chill down his back. "845 CE."

Jean thought about the Tang Dynasty's attempt to eradicate Buddhism, thought about the Viking Ragnar and the great siege he lay on Paris, thought about the Great Persecution the Jews were forced to endure. And he didn't understand.

"I haven't decided," Marco suddenly said, looking solemnly at his socked feet. "Sorry, Eren."

Eren didn't reply. And Jean still didn't understand.

They never get to study chemistry that week, either.

.

.

.

"We really need to get Jean's ass into gear."

Jean tilted his bag of popcorn in the air and poured whatever was left into his mouth.

Eren took that moment to thump his back. "Stop distracting yourself!"

Jean's eyes went wide and watery as he coughed bits and pieces of white cheddar popcorn out of his windpipe. When he could breathe without his eyes tearing up again, Jean crushed the empty popcorn bag into Eren's face.

Marco, whom Eren insisted come over to make sure Trost's cemetery didn't gain two male bodies, sighed heavily and pulled Eren away from Jean. "Stop it, you two. It hasn't even been five minutes!"

"Tell the asshole over there to stop attacking me, then!" Eren hollered, wrenching away from Marco and taking a few steps to the side.

Jean ignored him.

"You've been snacking all day! You don't need any more food! You'll just get fat!"

Jean's eyes sharpened. "Watch it," he growled.

"Oh my _God_," Marco moaned, dumping his face into a hand.

"Sorry!" Eren blurted, and Jean raised an eyebrow at the outright apology. Eren raked his fingers in his hair and groaned. "Shadis is riding me because of you. I can't tutor Jean _and_ keep all my shit together! But Shadis, _god_, he's such a fucking dick!"

Jean actually felt a twinge of pity for Eren at that. At practice, Coach Shadis had "casually" asked Eren yesterday how his new role as an "academic coach" with Jean was coming along.

Eren lied through his teeth and told Shadis things were going swimmingly.

Eren ran a eighty laps around the field after 2 hours of practice for saying so.

And Jean ran a hundred laps.

"Shadis is gonna kill me if you fail," Eren whined, pressing a palm into his forehead.

"No he won't," Jean said. "Shadis didn't make you captain 'cause you made a few fancy kicks with a ball. You kick ass and you're irreplaceable. The team's fucked if he gets rid of you, and he knows it."

Surprised gratitude bloomed in Eren's eyes. "...Thanks."

"Yeah, don't get used to it. And quit worrying about me. I do just fine on the quizzes. There's nothing to worry about."

"Jean," Marco began in an admonishing tone, "you barely pass them."

Jean clicked his tongue as he dug through the books in his bag. "I still _pass_, don't I? Focus on small victories, okay? One step at a time…" Jean stopped rummaging in his bag and smacked his palm against his forehead. "Ah, fuck. I just remembered. I let Connie borrow my chem notes."

Marco sent Jean a pointed look. "Why would Connie want to borrow _your_ notes?"

Jean shot him a look. "That's cold, Marco."

Marco smiled.

"Isn't your chemistry notebook black?" Eren asked, magically appearing to dig his hand into Jean's bag. "There's a black notebook right here." With a flourish, Eren fished the notebook out and shoved it in Jean's scowling face. "Do yourself a favor and do something about that Horseface of yours. It's not a good sign if even you can't see past your— …Wait. This says _'A Collection of W. I. P. s'?"_

Jean's brow creased. "…Whips?" Jean repeated, pronouncing it slowly as best he could. Whips. Whips as in _whipping_ whips? No, that has an H in it. So, what was a wip? Why was it in all caps? Did it stand for something?

Eren scowled. "You should know. It's your book, genius," he said, shoving it in Jean's face.

Jean knocked it out of Eren's hands. "Obviously, it's not mine if I don't even know what it means."

"Maybe you're losing your mind because you've got mad horse disease."

Jean sputtered. "Mad horse disea— _That doesn't even exist!"_

"Yes it does."

"It's mad _cow_ disease, you idiot!"

"Mad horse disease exists too! I'm looking right at an infected piece of shit horse right now!"

_"Look!"_ Marco interjected in desperation, waving his hand between them and settling on top of Eren's head. He was smiling waving the notebook up. "It's full of stories! A fantasy adventure, kind of like Lord of the Rings! And it's… Um. Oh."

"What?" Eren wrinkled his nose. "What'd you go 'oh' for?"

Marco pursed his lips. "Well. Two things. One, it's about you two. Two, you guys are, uh. Breaking up. In this story."

Jean and Eren reacted in unison. "What." "The _FUCK?"_

Jean cringed at Eren's loud, grating voice. "Watch your volume."

Eren whipped his head around. "Who cares about volume? Did you even _hear_ him?"

Jean plugged his fingers into his ears. "Marco, shut him up."

Eren scowled. "Where is it? Let me see that," he demanded. Spotting it in Marco's hands, Eren reached over to swipe it away. With blazing eyes, he looked through the book's worn pages, eyes roving over the messy, childish scrawl. Gradually, the fury in his eyes died down as his brow creased and the anger on his face faded to make way for something else. "What _is_ this?" he finally asked in bewilderment.

"What?" Jean drawled. "Can't take the fact that you get dumped?"

"Shut up," Eren muttered, noisily flipping back a few pages. "Here, I'll read it to you. Here's the second page:

_"The autumn wind breezed past them as they stood silently together, their hair tousled gently by the wind as if it were a long-lost lover. It was a testament of the world's hurtful destiny that they stood here, at this hilltop, while the element of wind caressed them so._

_'I can't do this anymore,' said a brunet, his emerald eyes glistening with tears. 'I can't lie to you.'_

_'What do you mean?' a two-toned blond asked in a low, hushed whisper. 'You can't possibly mean that we're…'_

_Unspoken as it were, the blond already knew it was true. Yes, fate was a cruel master. It took away his family, his sister, and his home, and now it yearned to take away his lover._

_'We can't be together,' said the brunet, bringing his lover close to him so his tears wouldn't be seen. 'Our clans would never allow it. It is forbidden.'_

_'Then let's run away,' the elf urged, his eyes seeking earnestly at his lover's emerald orbs. 'We can create our own clan together.'_

_'My people would never allow us to stay alive. You know there's bad blood between elves and dwarves, Jean—"_

Eren physically cringed. "No, I can't. I can't— What the fuck. What the _fuck_."

Jean took hold of the notebook, which Eren gladly passed on. Jean took a brief moment to flip through the pages. "Who _does_ this?" he asked over the rustle of turning pages.

"Lots of people, actually," Marco replied, looking down at the screen of his phone. "It's called Real-Person fic, or RPF for short. Hold on. Here, let me show you what it says." Marco turned his phone around so Jean could read off the screen. "It's when you write an imagined scenario about real people."

Jean leaned back from the phone. "It says Real-Person fic is about celebrities, though."

Marco took his phone back. "Most of them are, but it doesn't really matter. As long as the character you're using exists in real life, the story can be tagged as RPF."

Eren gave Marco a look. "How did you know what to google?"

Marco grinned sheepishly. "I have a sister who writes One Direction fanfic."

Jean made a face.

"So…" Eren gestured to the notebook. "Who's notebook is this? I'd say it has to be someone who knows us, but… A _lot_ of people know us."

"_And_," Jean tacked on, brow furrowing with discomfort, "how'd it get in my bag?"

"That's not important," Eren hastily cut in. "You always find weird shit in your bag."

"It's important to _me_, you fucking dwarf!"

Eren rolled his eyes and grabbed the notebook away, flipping through it. "Maybe there's a name in here somewhere."

"You dipshit, you think someone'll sign their name with that kind of trash in it?"

Marco perked up at this. "Maybe not a _name_, per se, but a pseudonym of sorts…" Marco trailed off thoughtfully, a finger resting on his lips. He turned to Eren suddenly. "Give it here, let me look."

Eren dutifully handed it over. Then he looked at Jean for clarification.

Jean just shrugged and reached into his bag for more snacks.

Eren slapped his hand away.

Jean scowled.

Marco opened the book and peeked at the inside front cover. His brow furrowed. "Maybe in the back…?" he murmured, checking the inside of the back cover. The last page stuck to it, but it came apart with a bit of force and a slight tearing sound. Marco's eyes lit up once the back cover was free. "Ah! Found it," he announced, looking and sounding quite pleased with himself. He folded the notebook at its spiral binding and held it up so Jean and Eren could see it too. "See? HotBlondeAlert."

Eren made a face. "What the fuck is _that?"_

"A hot blonde." Jean laughed despite himself. He was too amused by his own bad joke to be bothered by Eren's elbow jab to his ribs.

"It's a pen name," Marco clarified, dropping the notebook. "Historically, it's been a way for people to publish written work under a new identity, typically male."

Eren's eyes lit up with familiarity. "Oh, yeah! Like, uh, the Brontë sisters!"

"Right," Marco said, and Jean swore Eren glowed with the knowledge of having gotten that right.

Also, Jean wanted to know how Eren knew who the Brontë sisters even were.

"The tradition was popularized in the nineteenth century, though it was far older than that, and is, according to some historians, currently in decline. It was after the birth of the internet, I suppose, that the tradition of pen names changed quite a bit. What was once used to elude detection from a gender-biased society quickly evolved into a method of recreating the self…"

Jean dug through his bag as soon as Marco launched into one of his oddball trivia ramblings. Not because he didn't appreciate the trivia!Marco moment, but because he knew Eren was completely distracted. Jean could tell there wouldn't be much studying again this week.

At least there was a light-hearted reason to blame, this time around.

"—Even with the creativity and freedom online handles grant, people develop a penchant for gravitating toward a singular identity that can easily be traced if given enough time and dedication, and with the correct tools."

"So," Eren mused, pulling out his phone. "If I google HotBlondeAlert…"

Marco nodded. "That's the way it goes."

Jean fished out a bag of chips. "Maybe you should add 'real-person fic' with that. So, uh. You prioritize certain results over others."

"Yeah, sure." Eren stared into his phone as he thumbed away at the screen. The screen suddenly flickered, making Eren groan. "_Fuck_. Not _now_, come on!"

Jean crunched loudly on his chips. "Just get Mikasa to fix it. She can do anything."

"Yeah, but her room's so far away…!" Eren's face soured when his phone chose to die right then and there. "And now it's not. Aight. I'll be right back." Eren got up from the floor, stole a handful of chips from Jean, and left the room in search of his sister.

Jean eyed Eren all the way to the door. Once the door shut and Eren's footsteps thudded away, Jean turned right to Marco with the seriousness he had. "Hey. Am I gaining any weight?"

Marco stared at him. "Does it matter?"

"I am, aren't I?"

Marco opened his mouth as if to answer, but stopped and turned to his phone.

"Mar_cooooo,"_ Jean whined, crunching one last chip and wiping his hands on his pants. He left the bag of chips on the floor and meandered to the bed. He fell stomach-down across it and twisted so he was lying on his back with his feet and head dangling off the sides. He watched Marco bite the inside of his cheek and keep busy with texting someone. "Marco, you suck."

Marco finally laughed and reached over to roughly pat Jean's cheek. "I'm kidding. You look the same to me, but I don't notice things like that. Why? Does it matter to you?"

Jean let his head hang upside down from the bed and eyed the bag of chips he'd left on the floor. "That's my seventh bag of chips today."

Marco raised his eyebrows. "It's only noon."

"I know. And there's, like, three more in my bag."

"How did you even manage to fit all of them in? And with your books?"

"You know how the chip bags are full of air? Well, I pop 'em open and clip them shut again so I can carry more."

"Oh my god," Marco mumbled, rubbing at his temples. "Is it because of your chemistry final?"

Jean scowled. "No."

"There's no help in lying, Jean."

"Yeah, 'cause you're loads of help right now."

"You wouldn't want my help. I'm not very good at chemistry."

"Liar. You're in pre-med. And you got a B+."

"It was a tragic experience."

Jean rolled his eyes and reached for the bag of chips.

Marco pushed it out of his reach with his foot. "I'm cutting you off."

"You B+ ass," Jean griped.

"Sorry, not sorry."

Jean reached for the notebook instead. He plucked it out of Marco's lap and started flipping through it slowly. Before he knew it, he was reading through the shittiest fantasy story he'd ever read in his life.

Elf!Jean and Dwarf!Eren never find closure. The story stopped after about ten pages, and right in the middle of a battle, too. Jean clicked his tongue in annoyance and flipped the page.

A hand tangled in his hair soothingly as Jean started skimming a new story about soldiers who flew through trees.

"Having fun?"

Jean mumbled a quick "yeah" before re-reading a few parts to try and figure out how the soldiers were able to fly through the trees. Jean had to re-read about three times to piece together how they did it. He eventually figured out that they utilized a gas-powered mechanism that allowed users to perform three-dimensional maneuvers in mid-air with a combination of piston-shot grapple-hooks, iron wire propellers, and expert proficiency in spacial recognition.

It was a brilliant design; he could hardly believe it was coming from the same person who wrote the Euro-centric fantasy crap that never had an ending. Then again, the handwriting was different. Jean flipped back and forth between pages to compare the handwriting. It didn't seem to be two different people. Rather, there seemed to be a bit of an age gap between the two stories.

There was more precision in the appearance of the letters in the second story when compared to that of the first; the roundness of the more circular letters were more defined, the crosses on the Ts, Fs, and Es were firm and controlled, and the dots of the lowercase Is seemed to follow a specific pattern in terms of how far away the dot floated above its paired line.

Quickly losing interest (he and Eren weren't in this story), Jean flipped a few pages until something caught his eye. He flipped back until he found it again, bent the notebook back at the spiral to make it easier to hold above his face, and zoned in to the one particular word he cared about scrawled messily across the page.

_Marco_

Marco was in this story. HotBlondeAlert was writing about Marco. Someone out there was writing about _them_, about Eren and Jean _and_ Marco. He felt his stomach twist.

When they first found the notebook, Jean had been more perturbed by the fact that the book had found its way into his bag. Jean didn't like people touching his stuff, so you could imagine how well the idea of someone pawing all over his bag jived with him.

Of course, the book could have found its way into his bag another way. Jean could have just picked it up somewhere without realizing, which happened more often than not. Eren had been speaking the truth earlier; there was some really weird shit that came out of his bag every now and then because he never paid attention to what was going on around him. And with the chemistry final fast approaching like a dark, stormy cloud, Jean's head swirled out of touch more often than not in its attempt to avoid tango-ing with the undeniable failure waiting in his shitty future.

But now, he felt the weight of the implications to this one little notebook. There was someone out there who was thinking about them, creating whole worlds and situations for them, writing about their intimate thoughts and emotions. Needless to say, the whole thing was unsettling.

Judging by the portrayal of character in the LOTR-esque work, Jean was pretty sure the person behind this was someone neither of them knew on a personal level. There were no distinctive personality traits of theirs that indicated that the characters were was indeed based on them. It could have been an Eren or a Jean of the imagined mind, existing independent of the Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirchstein of Trost University's Raging Titans soccer team.

Still, it was unnerving. Especially when Eren and Jean weren't the only ones involved; Marco was being used, too. And what were the chances of names like Eren, Jean, and Marco appearing together without having any relation to the Eren Jaeger, Jean Kirchstein, and Marco Bodt of Trost? Jean was bad at probability, but even he could see that the chances were going to be pretty low.

Despite the oddity and downright invasive nature of the notebook, Jean curiously took a peek at its contents again, eyes catching on Marco's name in the book. He backtracked on the sentence where Marco first appeared, and started reading again.

_Squeezing Marco's shoulder, Jean groaned into his hand. "Here?" he whispered incredulously. "We're outside the walls! We can't—" His protest died when the hot mouth relocated from his neck back to his lips, swallowing down his words and the moan that fell when Marco's hips rolled into—_

Jean stared at the page, something coiling tight in his stomach as the fingers still in his hair stirred something else up—

_—rolled into his own. A hand snaked down from the back of his neck to the front of his pants, where—_

The fingers in his hair tugged gently, and then—

**_YOU'RE SUCH A CUTE THING GIVE ME YOUR MOUTH LET ME FEEL THAT OHHH YESSS—_**

"Don't touch me!" Jean slapped the hand away and bolted upright on the bed.

"Jean?"

He heard Marco in the distance, but the voice breathing in his ear was lou**DER—**

_**PRETTY BABY LET ME PET YOU LET ME MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD—**_

"Jean, are you—"

—The man was so close s**O CLOSE** to the present and his mind was reeling with the effort of not letting the memory flood his mind and the only thing he could think of — in vivid detail and sound; "Here? We're outside the walls! We ca**N'T— HEAR YOU** — was the damn thing he just read, the thing someone out there had imagined and thought about and planned and— and—

He felt a hand on his back and bolted out of the bed, running into the wall. Feeling his body slam against it made everything worse, because he started to feel what he was remembering; he started to feel those hands on him again, crushing his chin and ripping his legs apart and tearing him open—

"Jean?" a soft voice floated above it all.

He tried to latch onto it, because that voice was safe that voice was trust that voice was love—

"Jean? I-It's me. Can you— Can you hear me?"

_**NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SO OPEN THAT MOUTH LET ME HEAR YOU SCREAM LET ME HEAR YOU JEAN COME ON SCREAM**_

'"JEAN!"

There was a **BANG**, and a shout of _"Get away from him!"_ and the sound of heavy thudding and pounding and crashing—

_**"DON'T!" CRACK "TOUCH!" CRACK "HIM!" CRACK**_

_**A whimper slipped past his lips. "M-Mar**_

co…?"

When Jean blinked, he was crouched on the floor behind the bed, knees to his chest. When he pushed up and looked over the bed, he saw Eren holding Marco down with a snarl.

A cold dread came over him, quickly morphing to horror. Jean scrambled over the bed and plowed into Eren, but he didn't budge. Jean pounded his fists on Eren's hunched back. _"Get off him!"_

Eren threw Jean off him like a wild bull, green eyes glinting like a feral animal. "He was hurting you!"

Jean punched him. "He saved me!"

Eren caught his fist and threw it back. "You were _screaming!_ You were trying to push Marco away! He was—"

"He wasn't _doing_ anything! Marco was trying to help!"

"Why were you pushing away _help_, you fucking liar?"

_"BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW!"_

An icy hand at his chest froze him, and his vision was suddenly filled with a close shot of jet black hair.

"Eren," a voice of deadly calm intoned. "Stop."

"M-Mikasa! I was—"

"Jean is fine. Marco is fine. You need to stop."

"But Marco was—!"

"Marco wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, but I saw—!"

"You didn't think. You _saw_. You _felt_. You _reacted_."

"But—"

"_Enough_, Eren."

The conversation with Mikasa had given Eren enough time to start coming down from his adrenaline high. Rationality came slinking back, gradually dulling the wild look in Eren's eyes. Slowly, Eren took in his surroundings. He first looked at Jean, who was still a little disoriented himself. But he was present enough to watch the wild look in Eren's eyes change to something a little more human.

Then Eren looked down.

Jean watched Eren recoil as if burned, dropping his hold on Marco's wrists and lurching backward onto the floor with a startled cry.

"_Shit_, Marco—!"

Marco gave a pained grunt, slowly pushing himself off the floor with his forearms.

Eren shot forward like a rocket, sliding across the hardwood on his knees. "Marco! Shit, A-Are you okay?"

Though Marco smiled, Jean caught the wariness in his eyes. "Yeah," Marco only said. "I'm—"

"Of course he's not okay!" Jean snapped, shoving Eren away from Marco with his shoulder. "You attacked him!"

"I didn't _mean_ to!"

Marco interjected faintly. "Jean, I'm really okay."

"Shut up, Marco," Jean growled back.

Marco closed his mouth.

Eren's eyes flashed. "Don't talk to Marco like that!"

Jean bristled. "You're one to talk! You just tried to break his head open!"

"I told you, I didn't _mean_ to!"

"You're full of shit!"

Eren grabbed hold of the front of Jean's shirt. "You're full of shit too, whipped fag!"

Jean yanked Eren's head back with an angry fist in his hair. "Watch it, you psychotic freak!'

"Stop it, you two!"

Jean pushed Marco's desperate cry to the far corner of his head and reeled back a fist to smash into Eren's ugly face when suddenly—

_"Ohmmnnn—"_

Ice froze his elbow in place, and an inhuman strength tore him back from Eren. The ice moved, piercing sharply at the spot between his shoulder blades and making his back arch in pain.

Then the ice encased his hand.

Jean heard Mikasa give Eren the same treatment, watched her clench Eren's hand tightly in her own and raise both of their hands level to her shoulder. _"Ohmmnnnn,"_ she began again, her calm, steady voice vibrating ominously in the air. Her eyes were shut and her face became a placid lake. The chant was held impossibly long; Jean chanced a glance at Eren and was surprised to see that he had his eyes shut too, though his face was hardly calm. Eren's lips were set in a tight line and his brow was knit together impatiently.

Mikasa stopped humming meditatively to speak, her eyes still closed. "To resolve conflict, you must disspell all of the negative energy around you," she monotoned, words shaking with some kind of mystical effect. "Join hands and come with me in meditation to eradicate the hate from this room."

Jean stared incredulously at Mikasa. Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Jean turned his head to the right to spot Marco shuffling forward on his knees. Marco grabbed Eren's hand first, then held his other out expectantly for Jean to take.

Jean eyed Marco's waiting palm dubiously.

"I don't think this will—"

_"Ohmmnnnnn,"_ Mikasa chanted with a little more fervor, clamping his hand like a vice and making him shout in pain.

"Just do it," Eren mumbled, sounding about as done as a girl holding a fucked up drink at Starbucks.

Jean took Marco's hand and squeezed it.

The vice-like hold on his hand released. When Mikasa took in a deep breath, everyone collectively followed suit.

"When you exhale," Mikasa spoke softly, "inject all of your negative energy into that breath. Feel the negativity leave your body like a wave leaving behind old shells on the shore. Now let's repeat the process. Breathe in slowly, and hold it in. Now, exhale again _slowly_, counting down from ten… nine… eight…"

They breathed in again after that, Jean only half-listening to the meditative babble that spilled from Mikasa's mouth. Despite his earlier reluctance, Jean felt himself relaxing from the breathing exercise. A dull calm started to settle on him, making him feel light headed..

His left hand felt a gentle squeeze, and Jean cracked an eye open to see Marco looking at him.

Jean looked back, catching the concern flickering on Marco's face and feeling the guilt run through him. It was the guilt that made him turn to Eren, whose eyes were still shut, and start to apologize.

"Eren, I'm—"

Mikasa immediately clenched his hand, silencing him at once. "We're not done," she snapped, losing her composure. It came back as quickly as it slipped away. Her grip didn't loosen, however, and Jean shut his eyes again to let Mikasa continue whatever she had to do.

They finished after eight more breathing sessions, Mikasa indicating the end of the exercise by slowly letting go of their hands. Jean cracked an eye open when a sweeping sound filled his ears and saw Mikasa running small circles along the floor at her sides with her palms. A quick glance in Eren's direction notified him that Eren was doing the same, albeit reluctantly.

Then, Mikasa brought her hands together as if in prayer, clapping three times. "We descend," she murmured, opening her eyes.

"We return," Eren replied, sounding more at ease than he let on.

Jean and Marco exchanged looks.

"How are you feeling?" Mikasa asked, pinning her blank eyes on Jean's face. "Do you feel the need for a different practice? Something, perhaps, to regular your chi?"

A nervous laugh bubbled out of Jean's mouth. "Ah, no. Thanks. I'm— We're good. Right, Eren?"

Eren nodded mutely, pursing his lips. "Sorry," he just said, looking at the ground. "I just... I don't like people getting hurt. Especially people I care about."

Jean stilled at what seemed to be a hypocritical statement. But he knew Eren long enough to know that wasn't the case at all.

He didn't miss the way Mikasa looked at Eren, her face falling to form some expression of sadness he knew he didn't quite understand.

"What happened?" Eren asked quietly, glancing briefly up at Jean.

Jean immediately turned to Marco. They held the stare for a long while. Then, Marco looked away.

Jean turned back to Eren. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Eren nodded slowly. "It's okay."

Mikasa sighed suddenly, the sound loud and heavy. She rose to her feet and, for a fleeting moment Jean thought she was going to leave, but she was only going to a small purse set down near the door. She retrieved a phone from it and came back to their circle on the floor.

"Eren and I found something belonging to your writer friend," she said.

Jean's breath stopped in his chest.

As if sensing his discomfort, Mikasa paused in her tapping and looked up. "Do you want to know?"

"Yes," Jean hissed immediately, surprising himself at the sudden vigor.

Marco worried his lip. "Wait, I don't think—"

"Then _don't_ think," Jean snapped. "I wanna know who this fucker is."

Marco fell silent.

Mikasa just nodded, as if understanding his rage and humiliation of being crudely violated, and turned her phone around.

Jean looked down at what Mikasa had pulled up on her phone. He poked around on it, surveying its contents.

It was a blog.

A blog about him and Marco.

A blog about him and Marco doing—

Jean dropped the phone and ran out of the room.

.

.

.

* * *

><p><strong>Marco [1237]<br>**_May I ask for a favor?_

**Queen Ymir [1243]  
><strong>_Depends  
><em>_What's up freckles?_

**Marco [1243]  
><strong>_I'm looking for someone online._

**Queen Ymir [1246]  
><strong>_What your boyfriend can't handle you again?  
><em>_That fucker_

**Marco [1250]  
><strong>_He's not my boyfriend._

**Queen Ymir [1254]  
><strong>_I'll eat his heart for you_

**Marco [1254]  
><strong>_Please don't._

**Queen Ymir [1254]  
><strong>_Okay ok  
><em>_Fine  
><em>_Basic info is $20  
><em>_Basic + contact $30_

**Marco [1254]  
><strong>_I.. don't know what that means..._

**Queen Ymir [1254]  
><strong>_Full profiles are $50  
><em>_What?  
><em>_Really?_

**Marco [1255]  
><strong>_And shouldn't I get a discount?  
><em>_I'm your cousin. :(_

**Queen Ymir [1303]  
><strong>_I don't do discounts  
><em>_If you don't want any of that shit why are you asking me in the first place?_

**Marco [1303]  
><strong>_I couldn't find anything.  
><em>_I thought you could help._

**Queen Ymir [1303]  
><strong>_Got my hopes up for nothing  
><em>_Wow really?  
><em>_Okay what's the name?_

**Marco [1303]  
><strong>_HotBlondeAlert_

**Queen Ymir [1303]  
><strong>_Wow didnn't peg you for a slambamgbyema'am kind of guy_

**Marco [1303]  
><strong>_What?_

**Queen Ymir [1306]  
><strong>_You can't possibly be this dull  
><em>_I don't do weird sex matches  
><em>_Not for my baby cousin at least_

**Marco [1306]  
><strong>_We're only one year apart_

**Queen Ymir [1306]  
><strong>_You didn't get half the shit in this convo  
><em>_You're a baby_

**Marco [1306]  
><strong>_And it's not a sex match!  
><em>_I can't believe you thought that!_

**Queen Ymir [1308]  
><strong>_Look at you  
><em>_Baby_

**Marco [1308]  
><strong>_Will you help me or not?_

**Queen Ymir [1309]  
><strong>_Oko k  
><em>_gimmie a sec_

**Marco [1309]  
><strong>_Thanks.  
><em>_I owe you._

**Queen Ymir [1311]  
><strong>_Do one of those slap-squeeze things on Jean's ass  
><em>_in public  
><em>_I'll take a pic_

**Marco [1311]  
><strong>_No._

**Queen Ymir [1315]  
><strong>_You're no fun  
><em>_Why're you looking for hot blondes anyway?  
><em>_You got one_

**Marco [1315]  
><strong>_It's hair dye  
><em>_And we found a notebook with rpf of him and Eren in his bag_

**Queen Ymir [1317]  
><strong>_rpf?  
><em>_the fuck  
><em>_the shit that comes out of his cave…  
><em>_pun fully intended_

**Marco [1317]  
><strong>_Oh my God..._

**Queen Ymir [1331]  
><strong>_yo baby cousin  
><em>_you sure you wanna know?_

**Marco [1331]  
><strong>_I didn't go through half an hour + wait time with you for nothing._

**Queen Ymir [1332]  
><strong>_aw shit Marco  
><em>_you broke my heart_

**Marco [1332]  
><strong>_What's the hesitation for?_

**Queen Ymir [1339]  
><strong>_i found a blog  
><em>_it's encrypted so you can't see it if you're not invited  
><em>_but I can send you a screen shot  
><em>_no extra cost_

**Marco [1339]  
><strong>_That sounds good._

**Queen Ymir [1339]  
><strong>_tell me if you want the pw  
><em>_no fee  
><em>_and prepare yourself  
><em>_think of the worst_

**Queen Ymir [1351]  
><strong>_marco  
><em>_marco you okat  
><em>_you're not with Jean are you  
><em>_marco?_


End file.
